


Refreshment Course

by Chrissy24601



Series: Dominance [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, Dom!Javert, Dom/sub, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Madeleine Era, No Aftercare, Orgasm Denial, Power Play, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy24601/pseuds/Chrissy24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“A phial of oil. Not something a gentleman carries on his person at all times. Perhaps a dandy would, but you aren’t one. So, why have this with you for our meeting? What were you hoping for?”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>An incriminating whimper escaped Madeleine’s lips. His gaze darted left and right as Javert leaned in so close that their bodies were just shy of touching. He felt Javert’s hot breath in his ear and down his collar. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Javert knows Madeleine's secret, yet they both choose to ignore this reality while they play their sordid and unholy game of cat and mouse: mayor and chief of police to the public, their roles reverse when the opportunity arises. So far Javert left the initiative to Madeleine, but that is about to change. When the inspector shows up unannounced at Madeleine's otherwise deserted factory, they test and stretch the boundaries of the mutual blackmail they are caught up in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refreshment Course

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for gratuitous bondage porn, this reads as a stand-alone. If you want to understand the dynamics they have forged between them and the nature of their 'game', I recommend reading the previous fics in this series first. 
> 
> Now beta-ed, and damn was it necessary. Sorry about that.

The stacks of administration sat before him like daunting mountains of paper. Madeleine was a patient man, but after hours of sorting through the latest sales and purchase figures, his eyes were sore and his back ached. He sighed, knowing he should pack up. The last of the workers had left the factory over an hour ago and his candle was burning low. It really wasn’t worth the trouble to light a new one.

Nor did he want to. The peculiar light of a candle at the end of its wick brought to mind what had happened in this very office not three days ago. The remains of the rope with which Javert had bound him still lay in the bottom drawer of the desk. He recalled the martingale’s tightness around his neck, every movement pulling it a little tighter while he sat on his knees between the inspector’s strong thighs. He swallowed hard. Four more days until Friday. Four more days until Javert would give his weekly report, and hopefully a bit more. In his mouth, Madeleine’s tongue curved around the memory of his inspector’s flesh. Yes, a bit more would be welcome. He chewed his lip, but relieving his body’s sudden needs would have to wait. He had forgotten his handkerchiefs this morning and no matter how dull figures could be, the papers of his financial administration were no alternative.

Madeleine was just done preparing the files to continue in the morning when he heard the door of the workshop downstairs open and close. Who could that be at this hour? The foreman? Possibly. Perhaps one of the workers had forgotten something. He took the candle and went to the landing outside his office to see if he was correct.

He was not.

“Monsieur le maire,” Javert’s deep baritone rumbled. The words sounded like a greeting, but could well be a reprimand, too. Knowing Javert, it was both.

“Why inspector,” Madeleine began as he descended the stairs to the workshop. At the sight of Javert in his uniform and dark greatcoat he blushed, his earlier recollections still at the forefront of his mind. “I—I had not expected you here tonight.”

“Is that so?” Javert said with an almost contemptuous snort. “By the way you have left the front door open for one and all to come barging in, I would venture that you were expecting _someone_.”

Madeleine smiled nervously for lack of a better answer. The inspector’s tone had caught him off-guard. Javert was always cordial enough to his mayor, but he had only ever addressed Madeleine with such crude directness when they were engaged in the acts that neither of them would - or could - speak of.

“Well, now you are here, inspector, what can I do for you?”

Javert stared past him. “When you called on me for advice the other day, you mentioned that there were more security issues than just that door.” He nodded at the supposedly problematic back entrance. “I see you have yet to replace it, as I recommended you should.”

The remark was normal enough, based on a correct observation. And yet Madeleine knew he hadn’t imagined the dangerous edge to Javert’s voice, or the warning and its covert accusation of wilful disobedience. He swallowed hard.

“Yes, well. That is to say, a new door has been ordered from the carpenter’s shop,” he lied, badly.

Javert gave him a long, intent glare. Bright blue eyes drilled holes into Madeleine’s soul, so deep that they had to see Valjean hiding inside.

“If you say so, _monsieur_ ,” Javert drawled.

The blatant sarcasm layered on the honorific sent shivers down Madeleine’s spine and he averted his gaze. Until now, it had seemed up to him to provide the opportunity, the suggestion of consent, to make their meeting take this particular turn. Not so tonight. This time Javert had a firm grip on the initiative.

“Right. Those other issues you mentioned,” Javert said as he removed his hat and coat. His eyes locked on Madeleine’s once more. “Well?” he snapped impatiently when Madeleine gave no reply. “Show me!”

“Yes. Yes, of course, inspector.”

At a loss for what it was he was going to show, Madeleine led Javert to the warehouse at the back of the factory. When preparing for their last encounter he had identified some minor issues he could bring up, but it was all too clear that Javert needed no further enticement to assume his role in their game. Whatever Madeleine did now, the inspector would find fault and punish him accordingly. And thoroughly, or so Madeleine hoped. His whole body ached with anticipation at the thought.

The warehouse was a large hall with wooden crates stacked up high. In the middle stood several of them lined up for shipment first thing in the morning. The last crate still had the ropes attached by which it had been hoisted in place with the hook and pulley crane that hung from the ceiling. While Madeleine tried to think of something to say, Javert sauntered around with long, confident strides and made his own observations.

“Those windows at the top, are they secured?”

Madeleine followed Javert’s line of sight towards the ceiling, where a row of narrow horizontal windows peeked over the top row of stacked crates.

“They are not, inspector,” he admitted. Feeling the blood pound in his veins, he added: “A grievous omission, I’m afraid.”

Javert came about with a slow turn and faced him with a charged expression.

“You never learn, do you, _monsieur_? Unbarred doors, unbolted windows. Your factory is a crime scene waiting to happen, yet you do nothing!”

Madeleine’s head and shoulders hunched on instinct. “No, inspector.” He stood stiff as a board as Javert stepped up closer, looming over him.

“I could ask you for the reason of your negligence, but I suspect that would be pointless.”

“Yes, inspector.”

“Because there is no valid reason, is there?”

Javert’s voice grew darker, and Madeleine shivered. “No, inspector.”

“You taunt me, _monsieur,_ ” it was a statement, not a question, “like a brigand taunts the police. You are testing me.”

Madeleine bit his lip. “Yes, inspector,” he muttered, eyes still on the floor and the tips of Javert’s magnificent black leather boots.

“Then tell me, _monsieur_ , what do you want from me?”

Javert stood entirely too close, his broad chest only inches from Madeleine’s face. Madeleine knew what he wanted, but didn’t dare to voice it, even in euphemisms. His cheeks burned.

“Well?” Javert growled. “Do not waste my time, _monsieur_.”

“I—I…” The rest came out as an unintelligible mumble.

“Speak up!” Javert barked. “People speak aloud to me!”

“I want you to…” He folded his hands together, holding them so they would hide the growing bulge in his trousers. “I want you to punish me, inspector.”

Javert let out a low, cold chuckle. “Is that so? Yes… I thought I had detected an unusual response to my demonstration the other day.”

The memory of the martingale around his neck and Javert’s flesh in his mouth set Madeleine’s groin on fire. He hunched a bit further and pressed his folded hands against his hardening member.

The black cane hit the inside of both wrists in quick succession. “Off!” Javert’s deep tones commanded.

Startled, Madeleine spread his arms and looked up at him. Javert was grinning like a tiger.

The imposing man began to circle him with slow steps, stopping briefly behind Madeleine’s shoulder, as the prison guards were wont to do when berating a prisoner. “Men like you have no dignity,” Javert sneered with conviction. “You pretend that you do, but the veneer of civilisation is thin. You thought I had not noticed by now?”

Madeleine felt the cold metal of the inspector’s leaden-headed cane pushing against the underside of his chin, forcing him to meet the man’s gaze.

“Men like you are hardly men,” Javert growled with disdain. “Your only concern in life is your body’s basic needs. To feed, to sleep, and to fornicate. Anything more is beyond your grasp, or it would be how to make the most trouble of yourself.” Javert’s bright eyes flashed. “I saw that coin in your pocket,” he whispered, “and I _know_ it wasn’t an alm for some poor bugger. But that wasn’t all I found on you, was it?”

Madeleine gulped and shook his head.

“What was it then?” Javert pressed.

“It was… it was a phial of oil, inspector,” Madeleine answered. When he had noticed it missing after their last encounter, he had guessed Javert would have his reasons for taking it. And indeed the inspector now pulled a small item from the pocket of his breeches and held it up.

“A phial of oil. Not something a gentleman carries on his person at all times. Perhaps a dandy would, but you aren’t one. So, why have this with you for our meeting? What were you hoping for?”

An incriminating whimper escaped Madeleine’s lips. His gaze darted left and right as Javert leaned in so close that their bodies were just shy of touching. He felt Javert’s hot breath in his ear and down his collar.

“You said my _reprimand_ before left you limping more than usual, _monsieur_. Did I leave your arse so raw that you need this? Or did you intent for it to make yourself more… _accessible_ to me?”

“A-accessible, inspector,” Madeleine muttered before he could help himself. “I hoped you would… I know I deserve your—your punishment.”

The heavy cane touched his shoulder and dragged down his chest, over his nipple. He held his breath while lower down, his idle hands itched to touch himself.

“I do not punish lightly, _monsieur_ ,” Javert said as he made the cane drag a similar path down the other side of Madeleine’s chest. “Yes, you have been deliberately negligent. Yes, you were remiss in paying attention to my reports, which it is your duty as mayor to heed. But,” the cane dipped lower, trailing Madeleine’s loin with firm precision, “punishment must be proportionate to the crime.”

Madeleine groaned softly and jutted his hips a fraction to lean into the hardness of the cane head.

“A thief who broke into a house will get five years in the bagne. No more, no less,” Javert’s low, deep voice continued as the cane rubbed the underside of Madeleine’s scrotum. “However, if he should attempt to escape, his sentence will be added to. That is,” he pulled the cane back hard, eliciting a gasp from Madeleine, “only just, wouldn’t you agree?”

Under these circumstances, both Madeleine and Valjean lacked the clarity of thought to protest. Madeleine made to recompense the absence of the cane’s touch, but Javert swatted his hands away again.

“You are gentry, _monsieur_ ,” Javert sneered. “At least uphold the illusion of decency in conversation.”

“I cannot, inspector,” Madeleine said, seeing an opportunity and taking it. “I’m sorry, I cannot. I fear I do not have your, ehm, impressive self-restraint.”

Javert’s scoff tingled in all the right places. “Of course you don’t! Men such as you have none,” but it lacked the icy sting of sincerity. “It would seem a refreshment of my remedy for your lapsing attention is in order.”

“Oh, God yes,” Madeleine whispered under his breath.

Unmoving but for a faint tremor in his arms and legs, he watched as Javert brusquely lodged the cane under an arm, turned away and grabbed a length of rope from a nearby crate. Before Madeleine fully realised what he was doing, large gloved hands had grabbed his wrists and tied them together in front of him.

“Follow,” Javert ordered with a sharp tug at the rope.

The first step Madeleine obeyed on instinct, but he made the next because he wanted to. The harsh treatment was almost soothing in its familiarity. Inside him, Jean-le-Cric allowed himself to be subdued. To not have to think about tomorrow; To not have to think about fears or hardships that lay ahead. To not have to think about anything. When Javert made him stop, it was all he could do not to take one more step and hide his face in the man’s chest out of gratitude.

A metallic rattle overhead made him tilt his head back. Above him, the hook of the pulley used to move the crates descended. He blinked at it in non-comprehension, but once it hung at face-height, Javert forced up his bound wrists and slipped the hook under the knot. Madeleine’s heartbeat quickened.

“Inspector?”

“For this lesson to have any effect, you cannot afford to be distracted,” Javert said. A devious glint shone in his eyes as he hoisted the hook up again.

Madeleine gazed, wide-eyed, as the hook pulled his arms over his head. Sensibility feared he would be lifted from his feet – bound like this, his wrists would never hold his weight! – but he didn’t cry out when his body was stretched, first his arms, then his back. He only stared at his guard’s face while he was, inch by inch, forced to stand tip-toe.

Javert didn’t see him, focused on the floor as he was while he pulled Madeleine up. But just as begging seemed the only option, Javert let the pulley’s rope slip back a fraction and Madeleine’s heels touched the ground again. Then Javert secured the rope and regarded him properly.

“Perhaps I should have let you strip first, but this will do. It is only a refreshment course, after all.”

Madeleine bit his lip as Javert’s gloved fingers began to undo the buttons of his overcoat and his waistcoat. He wanted to do the same to that splendid uniform, but suspended from the crane’s hook, he had barely enough slack to sway, never mind move.

“Almost perfect,” Javert muttered. The cold leather of his gloves brushes Madeleine’s jaw as he pried open the knot of the silk cravat.

“A…a noose again?” Madeleine asked, voice husky at the memory of the martingale.

Javert bared his teeth in what might have been a grin. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? No, I have something more fitting in mind.” He pulled the soft fabric taut and forced it between Madeleine’s teeth. “Much better,” he breathed as he tightened the improvised gag and tied a knot at the back of Madeleine’s neck.

Madeleine moaned into the intrusion. The feel of the silk on his tongue made him salivate in memory of tasting Javert himself. His groin strained against his trousers, a prominence that the fabric there could no longer hide. But he was helpless now. Truly helpless. If Javert left him like this…

…but he wouldn’t. Master of the situation though he was, Javert was bound and captivated, too. Those bright blue eyes roaming their prey betrayed the inspector’s own fierce lust even more than the clear folds and shadows of his breeches.

“Such a glutton for punishment you are,” Javert said as he began to prowl around Madeleine. “Is that why…? No, don’t answer!” He brought forth his long cane once more and used it to push aside the panels of Madeleine’s coats. “If only your citizens could see you now, _monsieur le maire_. They call you a saint, a holy man,” the cane’s head rubbed small circles around a perked nipple. “What would they call you if they knew about this?”

Madeleine grunted through the gag. Stretched and taut, his skin and muscles were that much more sensitive to every touch. The cold lead of the cane’s head chilled his nipple through the thin linen of his shirt, shooting lightning through his body.

“The saintly mayor of Montreuil, bound and gagged and whimpering for more.” The cane was replaced by a hand cupping his pectoral muscle, large fingers pinching his nipple until it hurt. He gasped, but leaned into the sensation.

“You don’t fear pain,” Javert whispered, almost reverently, “and how could you? You know it too well.” He paused a moment, but then his hand went down and undid the buttons of Madeleine’s braces. When that wasn’t enough, he undid the trousers’ fastening, too.

Madeleine felt the garment sag to his hips, a few shivers sufficient to slide them over his buttocks and all the way to his ankles. Once Javert released the cord of his undergarments and unhooked the linen from Madeleine’s prominent erection, the drawers followed suit, revealing him completely.

He saw Javert’s hungry gaze, a predator moments before he devours his prey. But his self-restraint was no less than Madeleine had made it out to be: the man looked, but didn’t touch. As he prowled, the cane lifted the tails of the overcoat to allow its master – their master – an undisturbed view of Madeleine’s backside.

“Punishment must always be proportionate,” Javert repeated, his deep voice rough now. “For a greater transgression than negligence, the lash might be appropriate,” he mused. “The crack as it comes down, the sharp sting as it rakes over flesh.” He traced a finger from the small of Madeleine’s back over the right buttock. Madeleine shuddered. Javert added, almost in reassurance: “Yes , the whip can flail flesh from bone, but it does not need to. If the transgression is not serious, it can be made to leave just those stings. Red skin, but no blood. Unless, of course, you resist.”

The slap of the cane against his backside was not hard enough to hurt; not hard enough to be pleasurable, but it was a promise. A promise that conjured the need for ropes around his ankles, much tighter than his fallen trousers; the need to be face-down on a hard surface, his thick, throbbing cock pressed between that and his body while stings that didn’t draw blood rained down on his back and legs. His knees already buckled, but the ropes and pulley kept him upright.

“Please,” he mumbled around the gag, but what came out was unrecognisable.

At once Javert was in front of him again, his eyes dark with desire as well as surprise. “You want that. The lash, the rack. You want even that.” And by the way his lips trembled, Javert wanted it just as much. Madeleine wished the man would, that he would take him down, bend him over the nearest available surface and punish him – truly punish him.

“To bring the whip down on your back, subjugate you completely,” Javert muttered, lost in thought. “Such a pleasure it would be.”

Gloved hands pulled up his shirt and explored the expanse of his chest. Madeleine closed his eyes when the cold leather brushed not only his aching nipples, but his scars. Yet he didn’t fear the touch. Javert already knew. Had since the very first time.

“But punishment must be deserved. Do you deserve the lash? Do you deserve to be fucked until you can no longer walk?”

Through the haze of his own arousal, Madeleine still registered that Javert, too, was losing his composure at last. Perhaps that was the last push the man needed. ‘I deserve that,’ he meant to say, but with the cravat in his mouth, he only nodded demurely.

Javert laughed, a harsh noise. “God knows I want to do just that, but I must abide by the law. Your transgression is a minor negligence, nothing more. So, it would seem my hands are as tied as yours.” He smirked in glee. “Well, almost.” His arm moved as if he drew a folding knife and Madeleine tensed, but a second later, the cork of the little phial bounced on the floor.

Through the smell of his own sweat and the pungent odour of sex, Madeleine caught the perfume of scented hand oil. The scent itself was nothing, but what it meant…

He panted against the silk gag when his cheeks were spread forcefully. A cold, slick object pressed against his opening before pushing past his rim. By the way it felt and moved inside him, Madeleine knew it had to be a leather-clad finger. Another hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and held him in place while the finger pushed deeper still. The smooth leather was slick with hand oil and while even the broadest joint was not as big as what he had wished for, this was more than he had dared to hope. Exquisite bolts ran up his spine and down his legs as Javert began to finger-fuck him.

The intrusion was slight, but its assault incessant. His stretched body shook with every pounding, balance something he had given up on after the first minute. His hips bucked and snapped as his dripping member sought release. He moved with Javert’s hand, he moved against it, anything to heighten his sensations. Occasionally Javert’s finger would brush that little spot that felt like the gates of Heaven opened inside him, but the inspector didn’t search for it and such delight was brief and infrequent. He took comfort at feeling Javert grinding against his hip, but in all, it was just short of enough. Even when the pace quickened and he filled the gap of touch with images in his mind, he couldn’t tip himself over that last edge.

Behind him, Javert’s panting stopped suddenly in a tell-tale gasp and the finger inside him slowed. He leaned into it, moaning to beg for more.

It wasn’t granted. Javert pulled out of him and let go of his neck. The warmth of the inspector’s body so close to Madeleine’s back flooded with the cold air of the warehouse. Javert faced him, still breathing hard as he pulled off his oil-slick gloves and glanced at Madeleine’s engorged, purple-headed cock. A single drop beaded at the slit, but nothing more.

“Consider that part of the punishment,” Javert said laconically.

Madeleine whimpered once, but Javert had already loosened the rope of the pulley. Unable to regain his balance in time, Madeleine let himself fall to his knees as the hook came down. Now bare hands flipped open a knife and cut the rope binding his wrists. Released, his own hands fell into his lap, where they half-covered, half-cradled his still-hard erection. He couldn’t shake the daze of arousal, but was all too aware when Javert untied the gag and, for lack of a better word, examined him.

“Until Friday, monsieur le maire,” he said, his tone once again that of his office.

Madeleine nodded, head low. “Yes, inspector.”

The answer was not sufficient. Javert made him look at him. “Are you capable to lock up your factory, monsieur?” the inspector asked.

Hearing the real question, Madeleine scraped his throat and, despite his appearance, once more became Javert’s superior. “I am, inspector. I shall be expecting your regular report on Friday.”

Satisfied, Javert got up to retrieve his coat and hat from the crate he had laid them on. “Good night, monsieur le maire,” he said, and was gone.

Amidst the discarded rope, dishevelled clothes and the empty phial and its spilled oil, Madeleine listened to the echoed of Javert’s footsteps long after they had faded. In his hands, his cock was still firm, but he felt no need to drive himself to a climax. Javert had denied him that and it felt like cheating if he disobeyed his master.

His master… The words seemed heavy-handed, yet bore no different connotation to him than calling Javert his guard. It was how it should be, at least when they were alone.

Madeleine carefully got to his feet and pulled up his drawers and trousers. As he redid the fastenings, he realised that not having reached a physical climax didn’t subtract from the emotional satisfaction tonight had given him. Knowing he had pleased his master was in some strange way more fulfilling than the charity he did as mayor…

He sighed wistfully as he began to clean up the mess they had made. Perhaps he would have liked for Javert to have stayed longer, just to feel the man’s presence while they reverted back to their public roles. But that was asking too much, he knew. Javert’s love was for the law and for domination. Never for a lowly con like he.

And yet…

And yet he couldn’t help but wish it was Friday already.

**Author's Note:**

> I have one more fic planned for this series, but no promises as to when that will be ready for posting. If you want to know what is eating my time, please [take a look at the Les Mis-inspired novel I'm currently writing](http://chrischelser.com/novel-dark-eyes-preview/).


End file.
